


Veni Vidi Scripsi

by half_sleeping



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_sleeping/pseuds/half_sleeping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet collection out of the <a href="http://basketballpoetsociety.tumblr.com/">Basketball Poets Society</a> ficblog; assorted, ongoing, and unusual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zodiac Compatibility - Hyuuga + Aomine

Hyuuga was used to being the first one in the Aida Gym in the morning. Riko would be awake by now and getting up before coming here herself, to check on him. He ran on the treadmill without looking either left or right until he was done and stepped off to stretch and drink some water.

Then Hyuuga saw Aomine Daiki doing barbell curls in the weights area, breathing evenly, standing centered, using the weights that Kiyoshi used, his muscles straining at the sleeves of his shirt.

Hyuuga choked all over himself and into his towel. Aomine looked up, looked indifferent, and nodded at Hyuuga. “Seirin,” he said.

“Morning,” said Hyuuga, once he’d recovered. Aomine went back to doing reps. On a mental level Hyuuga was aware that all of the Generation of Miracles did have to train, like Kiyoshi did, like Kagami did; that not even genius entitled you to being sixteen yet broad-shouldered and bulging, but even then it was strange to see Aomine Daiki standing there being ridiculous and incredible in a completely familiar environment.

“Isn’t this far?” he asked Aomine, after he’d done his stretches and Aomine had put away the barbell and was doing his own, looking around the gym with the measured stare of someone trying to decide if he wanted his arms, legs, or lungs to give out first as he pulled his arm over his head and held.

Aomine looked annoyed, which was marginally more emotion than he had shown off-court all season, and then as if on cue Momoi Satsuki’s voice rang out “ _RIKO-SAN”_ from the back office, a place normal customers certainly did _not_ have any means of accessing, and Hyuuga said, “Right,” as the echoes of Riko’s outraged shriek fell away.

“She wants your coach to take a look at me,” Aomine said, as the clamor of feminine voices rose and fell without anything more decipherable being said, or rather yelled.

Hyuuga looked Aomine up and down and could come up with only one flaw: impossibly annoying. Riko would know better than him, he guessed. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Were you supposed to be working out before Riko could see you?” Hyuuga said.

Aomine then looked mulish, and Hyuuga was reminded of Kuroko so forcefully that he remembered they had been teammates for two years, and Momoi had come to Kuroko with all her worries for this boy tucked into her tears. “I’m not using my legs,” he said.  Hyuuga just looked at him. He hadn’t yet mastered Kiyoshi’s calm, level and _completely infuriating_ gaze, the one that made you strip yourself down to the soul just to see what he was looking at, but Hyuuga could _don’t-bullshit-me_ - _kid_ with the best of them.

Aomine’s lip curled. He was only a first-year, after all. “She doesn’t need to know,” he said, and his eyes flicked over Hyuuga. “Just like your coach doesn’t need to know you ran here instead of taking the bus like you were supposed to.”

Hyuuga crossed his arms. “I always run here,” he said, but it was true and he did not have to know how Aomine knew to know that Aomine knew it was true. They stared at each other for a moment longer.

“Watercooler’s outside,” said Hyuuga, conceding. Riko would know once she looked at him, anyway.

“Yeah,” said Aomine, and wandered out. Satsuki was probably finished being cute by now, too.


	2. Zodiac Compatibility - Riko/Murasakibara

Murasakibara’s head lay on Riko’s lap, and he made noises of terrible pain and suffering as she laid another wet cloth on his head and worried. “Murasakibara-kun,” she said. “Is this better?”

“No,” he said.

The rest of them in the camp’s group B not laid up with food poisoning ran their fortieth or fiftieth lap, depending on whether or not you were keeping up with Kiyoshi, who fairly raced the distance between leaving sight of the bench where Riko was sitting and then slowed to a crawl whenever he came back around.

“This is all your own fault,” said Izuki, unsympathetic, once he’d let Kiyoshi outlap him a few times to catch his breath. “You shouldn’t have challenged him to that eating contest. You have to eat your words now you’ve been b-eat-en. ” If any of their group had had breath to spare, they would have groaned; as it was their shoulders slumped and heads fell forward.

“I didn’t do it,” said Kiyoshi, injured. “Kagami did.” He paused. “Kagami won.”

“Kagami was on the other side of the canteen,” said Izuki. “With group A, who were eating _his and Mitobe’s_ cooking. And you egged Murasakibara-kun on. As a senior, you should be ashamed of yourself.” There had been a great deal of envy for Group A. C had gotten Momoi. Between Kuroko and Akashi, D had been glad to stick with hard-boiled eggs.

Murasakibara pointedly hid his face in the towel spread over Riko’s thighs, as Kiyoshi came around again. Riko stroked his hair back from his face, petting him. Kiyoshi growled a little, and ran faster.


	3. Life Outside Basketball - Gen

“Reason number eighteen Mai-chan is the best,” said Aomine, brandishing the magazine- light shone off the gloss on an alarmingly sheer bikini, and Kagami cringed automatically- “Her hair. Look at it. Look at how it falls sweetly over her shoulder and both conceals and emphasizes her best features. Do you think she gets this hair on her own? You probably do, because you’re an idiot. She-” He checked his drink. It was empty. He got up to refill it, saying, “Reason number nineteen when I get back.”

Kagami leaned over and hissed to Kuroko, “He’s been talking for forty-five minutes and he hasn’t even mentioned her tits yet.”

Kuroko carefully replaced the lead in his mechanical pencil. “Of course not, Kagami-kun,” he said, in a voice a few shades of tone off from ‘I will kill you’ which Kagami thought perhaps meant ‘kill me’. “Aomine-kun is a true fan. Horikita Mai-san’s endowments do not even make the top thirty.”

“He’s doing a literary analysis of his _skin mag_ ,” said Kagami. “How is that homework? What kind of school does he even go to?”

“I understand the teachers were brought to an understanding of Aomine-kun’s academic ability,” Kuroko said. Kagami had had no such luck. The Literature teacher at _their_ school was now convinced that Kagami was some kind of language savant, and frequently called on him in class to present his work. With encouragement, Sensei believed, Kagami-kun’s latent talent would bloom again. Kuroko had looked at Kagami’s assignment and just laughed.

Suddenly noticing the absence of six feet four and over two hundred pounds of teenage male from their table, Momoi took her earphones out of her ears. “How are you boys enjoying your boy talk?’ she said, sweetly.

“Chemistry ain’t worth this shit,” Kagami said to her. Or maths. Or English. Or history.

“What a shame,” said Momoi, not turning a hair. “Of course, if you and Tetsu-kun don’t _want_ my help…”

Kuroko elbowed Kagami, hard. “Your help is much appreciated, Momoi-san,” he said. “Summer vacation does end in only a week.”

“Doesn’t time fly,” she agreed, leaning to stretch and smiling at them with a smirk oddly reminiscent of her former captain. “How far have you gotten?”

“Four hundred words to go,” reported Kuroko, who had been neatly transcribing Aomine’s passionate monologue. Aomine was perfectly willing to do his homework, Momoi had discovered… as long as he did not actually have to do any of his own work.

“Numbers nineteen to twenty-five should just about cover it,” said Momoi. Aomine returned at this moment, having clearly decided to get the entire dessert range menu while he was up. “Did you go get a refill? Mou, you might have asked us if we wanted any.” He made a face at her in return.

Kuroko stood at once. “I would be happy to fetch you your drink, Momoi-san.”

Momoi jumped up as well, looking overjoyed. “Oh, Tetsu-kun,” she said. “I’ll definitely come with you. Kagamin, you want more of the same. Let’s go, Tetsu-kun!”

“Please continue in our absence,” added Kuroko over his shoulder.

“Wait,” said Kagami, looking at the paper left on the table. “Wait, no, _damn_.”

“Where was I?” said Aomine, peering at the paper. “Oh, yeah, number nineteen.”

Kagami just slumped until his head hit his open notebook, and groaned. Math wasn’t worth this.


	4. Poetry - Inverted in Insolence, Aomine/Akashi

> _[Who](http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Gloria_in_Profundis)is proud when the heavens are humble,_  
>  _Who mounts if the mountains fall,_  
>  _If the fixed stars topple and tumble-_

The call came in in the late afternoon and Aomine knew without looking it would be Akashi: the Interhigh over and done with, the post-game discussions over, the interviews wrapped up, the champions released to relax and congratulate themselves after a summer of plunder.

Besides, Satsuki would never have called him. Probably she’d gone running off to Tetsu, like she always did.

“Daiki,” said Akashi, when Aomine answered the phone.

“Ah?” said Aomine.

“You didn’t condition yourself,” said Akashi, factually. “After Kise.”

Aomine leaned by the side of the school wall. Akashi had looked at Aomine sitting on the bench across the court, and frowned, his jacket draped over his shoulders in readiness. Then he had sat too, with a sigh so infinitesimal that if Aomine had been anyone else and Akashi had been anyone else and they had missed even a single shard of history, he would not have known that Akashi had waited a year for this match and maybe longer, three years since he had first seen Aomine Daiki play basketball and it had taken his breath away. Two since Aomine’s gaze had wandered over his teammates and wondered who was the stronger. “Aa,” Aomine said, resigned now, after the fact. Harasawa would never have seen his injury if Satsuki hadn’t known it would be there. He could have fooled the rest of them, easily, and Akashi no longer possessed the authority to order Aomine off the court, but Satsuki had seen and known.

“I was disappointed,” said Akashi, over the phone, probably barely stripped out of his pristine jersey, Rakuzan’s white and blue. Akashi hadn’t played one full match this whole season. He had been ready and waiting and eager. He had looked at Aomine across the court while Aomine could not play him, and his eyes had meant _how could you_.

“Yeah,” said Aomine. They were silent for a moment. In that moment they refrained from talking of small things, from dissecting the game their teammates had played without them, from saying _how are you how’s school what have you been doing_. Aomine did not care and had no doubt that Akashi already knew he did not care, and yet they lived through all the un-saying of it anyway.

“Take care of your knees,” said Akashi, at last, and hung up.


	5. Battle of the OTPs - Aomine/Kuroko

**Title:**  before i do  
 **Pairing:**  Aomine/Kuroko, or more Aomine + Kuroko  
 **Summary:** This is a bit free-verse and experimental. I was stuck by feels. 

 **  
**you turned amazing when we were twelve

and i had barely known you when

i had seen the back of your head 

the back of your back

the glory of genius

and i had barely known you then

i learned the curve of your smile

and the sound of my name on your lips

i barely knew you, then.

it was like the world had opened up and disgorged you just for me 

when we were nineteen you flew halfway across the world away from 

(me)

japan towards

your future

(the world had found you again)

and i smiled and said goodbye and congratulations and kissed you goodbye and set up your skype account 

and refused to cry until afterwards when we were in the train

and momoi-san was the only one who could see me

(because she understood, about not wasting our tears on you)

not because i could not stop you but

but because i did not want to

not because i did not want you

but because i always had.


	6. Backstory - Akashi/Midorima

Akashi drummed his fingers on the tabletop, staring at Midorima. They were surrounded by stack upon stack of promotional materials from high schools famed for their basketball programs, arranged- thank you Momoi- by region, academic performance, basketball club performance, cuteness of girl’s uniforms, cuteness of guy’s uniforms, and as a special concession, proximity to combini known for running special snack promotions. Any one of the Teikou club would have been perfectly satisfied in their search for a high school by perusing the panoply of prospectuses and then making a clear and reasoned decision based on their circumstances and prospects.

Not so Midorima Shintarou.

Akashi cast him a glance, sidelong. Application of mundane methods had reduced Shintarou’s options to the Tokyo area, and a sniff from Shintarou had discarded any without a satisfactory rate of university-going students. In terms of basketball, Akashi knew of only three that would suit what he knew to be his friend’s exacting standards. There were a great many perfectly acceptable schools in Kyoto for Shintarou to attend, and furthermore provide them with the opportunity to repeatedly face each other in district tournaments. Their parents were also convinced that their respective son’s friends were extremely capable, personable and likable young men, and surely would have had no opposition to a roomate scheme. (Midorima, when confronted with the thought of living with Akashi had not only gone pale, but gone to a shrine and prayed for his high school life.)  Attempts to convince Shintarou to move to Kyoto, however, had been unfruitful, no matter how many times Akashi repeated that he would deeply regret not having an opponent of Shintarou’s caliber to amu- er, occupy him- in their daily shogi matches. This line of argument, while acknowledged to be as much partiality as had ever been shown by Akashi to anyone, had carried no weight whatsoever. While Shintarou was considering his own move, Akashi idly picked up a brochure and examined it with an eye to determining its suitability for Shintarou. Akashi was aware that his input would have been forcefully - to say nothing of rudely- rebuffed by Shintarou, but since he was taking so very long to make his move, Akashi really could not have been said to be blamed for seeking alternate mental stimulation.

Shintarou naturally chose this moment to place his piece and look up, seeing that Akashi had plucked reading materials from his rapidly narrowing field of possible high schools. He looked silently at Akashi, who held up the brochure in his defense.

“I think the uniform would suit you admirably,” said Akashi baldly. Shintarou had the height and shoulders for gakuran.

Shintarou directed at Akashi one of his withering looks. Since Akashi was quite happily immured to all of these- indeed, they occasioned him no small amusement- he was able to hide his smile as he promptly made the move he had decided from the second he saw Shintarou’s eyes straying to his castle-piece. The frown cleared from Shintarou’s face as he returned to contemplating the board, and Akashi was able to go back to trying to decide if Shintarou would be better served by going to single-gender high school, like several people had unwaveringly declared was clearly Ryouta’s only recourse. He was only awakened from this reverie when Shintarou cleared his throat pointedly and Akashi returned his attention to their game.

Shintarou’s eyes narrowed. “There is no need for your consideration,” he said stiffly. Akashi half-suspected that the concentrated torrents of sentimentality overflowing all over campus were taking effect on Shintarou’s softer feelings and thus affecting his temper, except that after all Shintarou had refused to move to Kyoto. “I am quite capable of making my choice in good time.”

Akashi resisted telling Shintarou that even Atsushi had made his choice, though admittedly this choice had been made the second the scouting coach had passed Atsushi a kitkat she had found squashed in her bag. Even Aomine was on his fifth school, not systematically running through divinations like a man waiting for a sign from the universe. He suggested that nevertheless it was better to be safe than sorry, resorting to tired aphorisms in his need to not upset Shintarou while they were still mid-game.

“I must consult Oha Asa, of course,” said Shintarou, with all the serene confidence of a man who daily received signs from the universe. “I have procured an appointment this weekend.” Having said this, he clearly considered the matter closed for discussion.

Akashi was well aware that Oha Asa, by and large, was the only thing standing between Shintarou and a morbidly amusing death-by-karma, but even so this seemed a little much. What if Shintarou was sent to a school with inferior academics? What if it sent him to a girls school? (Akashi’s mind entertained mild, but amusing, speculation on what Shintarou would look like in a sailor uniform.) What if, even with all the manifold advantages of procuring Midorima Shintarou, this unknown school failed to make it to the tournaments? It was not to be risked.

Akashi had half-formed a plan to acquire the entire media conglomerate that produced the broadcasts, another to intercept and hijack the broadcast entirely when Shintarou cleared his throat again, placing a move which so characteristic of him that Akashi felt sentiment well up within his own chest cavity. Ah, Shintarou. So cautious in some ways, but evidencing the occasional flash of brilliance, of daring and persistence. So familiar and so dear.

“Man proposes, god disposes,” quoted Shintarou. Even this, repeated _ad nauseum_ for nearly every day of three years, was received with fondness. “There’s no need to bother yourself in the slightest about my choice.”

Akashi rather thought there were several reasons, but- with a sigh, and a maneuver that would win him the game in five moves- conceded. Shintarou would persist in doing what he considered best.

(Nevertheless upon recieving notice of Shintarou’s final choice Akashi was vindicated in at least one small way: Shintarou did, indeed, look very good in gakuran.)


	7. Crossover - One Piece/KnB

Momoi walked quickly through the port. Around her, the port groaned as it was rebuilt, Marines giving a nod to the Commodore as she passed, but quickly returning to their work.

She counted silently beneath her breath as she passed the boats, looking for a faint shimmer out of the corner of her eye. It settled on a small boat rocking gently in the tide, one of the several always stocked and ready for quick journeys. Momoi walked over to it, stepped on, and pushed off. Then she crossed her arms and stood there, waiting, as the boat drifted out to sea.

“Well?” she said, once the boat had passed out of sight of all the workers.

Aomine materialized out of the air with his coat swirling in the salty wind and snarled, “Go back.”

“No,” she said. Dai-chan was so stupid.  Of course she’d be able to see through him trying to use his Devil Fruit ability to make himself invisible and sneaking off after Tetsu-kun and Kagamin and Ki-chan. She knew every single application of the Pika-Pika fruit.

“I’m not sneaking!” he said heatedly, when she pointed this out to him. “It’s just- Akashi’s there,” he said. “He’s there in the New World, and Marine HQ just wants us to sit and swivel while-“ he stopped. “I’m not going back,” he said.

“You don’t need to,” said Momoi, and took out the reason she hadn’t been able to get out here sooner to make sure he packed right. She’d been too busy stealing something from the vaults. And writing a note to explain that she was just borrowing it. “I’m coming with you.” She tapped the glass-encased compass on her wrist. The arrow never wavered, pointing into a horizon of endless sea.

“Shabody Island,” said Aomine, reaching for it. He hadn’t even thought about how he was going to get there without directions. She could tell.

“You don’t even know how to read this,” said Momoi. “I’m navigating.” In that moment, she knew she’d also bought her passage- Dai-chan wasn’t above dumping her out at the next port, never thinking about what would happen if the ship tipped over and he fell overboard. If a Sea King attacked him. If pirates attacked him, as they surely would at the first sign of his Rear Admiral’s jacket. If he had to do anything that involved his brain going for more than five seconds at a time.

“What would _you_ do if you fell overboard?” retorted Aomine. “You can’t swim either.”

“I wouldn’t fall overboard,” said Momoi. She checked the eternal post. It would point the way to Shabody Island- to where everyone would meet, if they wanted to enter the second half of the Grand Line. Every one. Kaijou, Seirin- both ships and their crews would have to go through. They’d meet there for sure.

They sailed off perpendicular to the sunset, still bickering.

The needle held steady, pointing to their future. To _Tetsu-kun_. To the New World, where they belonged.


	8. Battle of the OTPs - Himuro/Kagami

**Title:**  Booze-Fueled Crime Sprees  
 **Challenge:**  Number 12 (Battle of the OTPs - KagaHimu)  
 **Characters:**  Kagami Taiga/Himura Tatsuya

“I cannot believe you,” moaned Kagami, head in hands, trying vainly not to look out the window at the scenery zipping past, fast enough that no one passing them could see two high school students driving what Kagami could only characterize as a  _stolen car_ , Tatsuya was crazy and going to get them both arrested, going to get them punishment laps for the rest of their  _lives_ , going to get them killed by Coach’s dad. Kagami couldn’t decide which would be worse.

 

“Don’t worry,” said Tatsuya, blinking limpidly at Kagami  _jesus he’d taken his eyes off the road_ \- “Taiga, you know I have my license.”

“You have it in America!” Kagami shouted, as they narrowly passed an intersection and Tatsuya turned left sharply to avoid another red light. Kagami was thrown against the door.

“Cars are the same everywhere Taiga,” said Tatsuya.

“When you drove out of the gym you started on the wrong side of the road,” pointed out Kagami.

“Habit,” said Tatsuya. He sparkled at Kagami again, laughing, and said, “Where’s your sense of adventure, Taiga? We’re like Thelma and Louise. Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Coach just wanted us to go out and get drinks,” said Kagami, trying to remember how those movies had ended. But noooo, just because the combini nearest them had been closed and Murasakibara had submitted a snack order- “This is not a booze-fuelled crime spree and we are not going to die.”

“It could be,” said Tatsuya. “I still have my fake i-“

“Fucking hell  _stop talking_ ,” said Kagami. “Stop talking and  _WATCH THE ROAD_.”

Tatsuya laughed, threw the oncoming station wagon a challenging look, and pressed the pedal to the floor.


	9. Crossover - Detective Conan/KnB

**Title** : The Case of the Contrived Coincidence

 **Characters** : Aomine Daiki, Kuroko Tetsuya, Momoi Satsuki, Hattori Heiji

 **Challenge:** Challenge no 19, Crossover (KnB/Detective Conan)

 **Summary** : If they had just stayed home today, none of this, Aomine is sure, would have happened.At  _all_. 

After missing half of Kaijou’s match yesterday- like that hadn’t been her idea in the first place, their first day off in a long, long while- Satsuki was all het up for them to come in early for the finals, which led to them running into the very absolutely last person Aomine wanted to see.

“Yo’, Daiki,” said the unwelcome person cheerfully, a dark-skinned boy with sharp features and Aomine’s clear blue eyes, the same air of expectancy. “When’s your match? I came around to see it, since I was in the area.”

“Heiji?” said Aomine. “What the- what do you mean _in the area_?”

“Kendo comp,” said Heiji. He had his gear slung over his shoulder, and his companion, a young woman, greeted Satsuki with the mandatory girl-squeals and hugging. “Basketball finals, right? Ya not ready yet?"

“I’m not even _playing_ ,” said Aomine, shrugging his shoulders elaborately. “I got knocked out last week.” He glared at Heiji as though he should have known this, because he damn well should have: it wasn’t as though their moms ever stopped talking.

“Look,” said Heiji. “Have ya’ _ever_ not won one of these tournaments? Cut me some slack here! I came down to see you anyway, and you’re here, so tha’s just that!” He peered at the court. “Which one of those teams beat ya? Or did they not make it ta the finals?"

Aomine crossed his arms. “You’ve seen me,” he said. “You can go away now.”

“Dai-chan,” said Satsuki warningly. “I haven’t seen Heiji-kun and Kazuha-chan in ages.” Kazuha also pouted, and her displeasure usually took on a distinctly violent edge, but Aomine still had Satsuki and Heiji between them. If she came for him, he could shove Heiji at her or use Satsuki as a shield.

Aomine pulled at his hair. “No,” he said. “No, you don’t get it, it always happens around this guy, it _always does_ -“ Satsuki had never had to spend vacations in Osaka with them, Aomine remembered. She’d never had to deal with-

Akashi appeared, seemingly from nowhere, his jacket floating around his shoulders. “Daiki, Momoi-san,” he said, perfunctorily, nodding to them in greeting. He transferred his laser gaze to Aomine’s cousin. “Hattori Heiji?” he inquired, less a question than an accusation.

“Er,” said Heiji. “Yeah?”

“I would like to request your help on a case,” Akashi said. “I believe a murder may have been attempted.”

The two girls gasped and looked shocked. Heiji wilted and did not.

Aomine buried his head into his hands. “Fucking _always_ ,” he said.

.0.

“Akashi asked Heiji for help to get this shit sorted out before the police get here and before the match starts,” said Aomine, impervious to the suspicious glares of half of Seirin’s seniors, and manfully resisting the adoring stares that the other half directed at Momoi. “And I got roped in.”

“Heiji?” said Kuroko.

“Hattori Heiji,” said Aomine, with an air of getting it over with. “He’s my cousin. He’s over at Razukan’s locker room, and he asked me to- what.”

“Your cousin is the Great Detective of the West,” said Tetsu.

Aomine glared at him.

“Your cousin is the Great Detective of the West,” said Tetsu, as though trying to establish the important fact. 

“Fine, yes, he is, he is,” said Aomine. “Can we drop this?”

“Your cousin is the Great Detective of the West and _you never introduced me_ ,” said Tetsu.

Aomine’s headache intensified. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he protested, which was a lie. Tetsu loved mysteries. Was mad for them. Would never forgive Aomine. “Anyway, he lives in Osaka. And he’s not that famous, anyway.”

“Aomine,” said Kagami, trying hard to follow the conversation. “If they call your cousin _the Great Detective of the West_ , I think it’s a safe bet he’s pretty damn famous.”

“Have _you_ ever heard of him?” demanded Aomine.

“I have now,” pointed out Kagami. “What makes you guys think it wasn’t an accident? Is it going to affect the finals?”

“Fine, he’s famous,” said Aomine, pulling a face. “Can we get on with _finding out_? Did any of your guys leave the locker room at any point before the game?”

“You’re investigating this case?” said Tetsu. Everyone knew that Kuroko was the best at mysteries. _Everyone_. “ _You_ are investigating this case?”

“You can’t do it,” Aomine explained patiently, wishing Akashi was here to turn his crazy eyes on Seirin and magically produce total compliance for the craziest possible shit, like Aomine going to interview Seirin about their movements before the incident. “You’re a suspect. Everyone in this room is a suspect. Suspects can’t investigate.”

“I’ve never experienced hatred like this before,” said Tetsu blankly. His gaze fastened hungrily on Satsuki doing her best intrepid sidekick impression while talking to Aida Riko. 

“Don’t we even get a chance to clear our names?” Kagami demanded.

“THAT’S WHAT I’M FUCKING DOING,” yelled Aomine. He knew they should have just watched the match on TV. 


	10. Rarepairs- Murasakibara/Kise

“Kise-chin,” said Murasakibara patiently, “are you an idiot?”

 

Kise slumped to the table like a particularly attractive overturned flower arrangement and gave a dry, fake, delicate sob.

Murasakibara flicked through Kise’s test scores with a mounting sense of annoyance. While Murasakibara had never regarded Kise’s presence in his class with the same amount of active loathing that the other boys did, since it never, adversely or otherwise, affected him in any way, Kise’s entry into the basketball club and the tight-knit circle of regulars meant that now, monitoring Kise’s every move was apparently supposed to be Murasakibara’s prime directive, mostly as pertained to his fitness to play basketball. Since monitoringanyone’sfitness to play basketball was something Murasakibara particularly disliked at any given time, he had naturally expressed his disappointment with being assigned this role as vociferously as he could, which meant that he had slumped over the bench in the locker room and sighed like the life was going out of his body.

“Kuroko has his own grades to worry about, and Kise is in your class,” Akashi had pointed out, with his customary and infuriating mild surprise that not everyone could produce total and unquestioning obedience from anyone in their immediate vicinity simply by existing. That was alright for _him_ , Aka-chin only had to sit around with his feet on someone else’s desk playing shogi in the dark, and Mido-chin and Kuro-chin and Sacchin would scramble around doing all his work for him; whereas noticing that Kise-chin had roughly the intellectual stamina of a golden retriever actually required some effort to see past the giggling horde of sparkling girls and guys who obscured Kise-chin’s desk at the best of times.

As they were doing now.

“Ne, Kise-kun,” they whined, seemingly with one voice. “When will you be done? Can’t you come out with us? You promised we’d go out today!”

Kise made a face back at them. “I’m sorrry,” he said, “but Murasakibarachi is so so mean, I just can’t-”

Murasakibara tuned out and wondered for the fiftieth time why Midorima, who actually seemed to get some kind of perverse kick out of persisting in futile endeavours doomed to hopeless, soul-crushing and inevitable failure, couldn’t be the one to tutor Kise.

(Midorima had pushed up his glasses- slightly too large for his face, to grow into- stared at Murasakibara over them, and said, “Aomine.” It was, unfortunately, yet another unanswerable argument.)

The girls all sighed in unison, which was apparently the cue for wind to rush through the open window and carelessly arrange Kise’s hair over his marble brow.

One of them reached over and plucked a pocky from the box Murasakibara had opened for sustenance, gripping it delicately with her long painted fingernails, and that was finally the last straw.

“Go,” said Murasakibara, “ _away_.”

They scattered like pigeons, pausing only at the door of the classroom to make piteous faces at Kise, and to wave to him forlornly as they left, as though waving him off to a war he would not return from.

Kise sighed as they abandoned him. “Murasakibarachi,” he said, “you don’t have to be so mean to girls, you know.”

Murasakibara treated this pronouncement with all the dignity it deserved, i.e. none whatsoever. Kise kept shifting his legs back and forth, fidgeting. Even though they had pushed together their desks to make their study area, both boys were the despair of standard-sized furniture, and Kise’s legs kept moving into Murasakibara’s. He did keep his elbows out of the entire half of the space Murasakibara had designated for sustaining snacks, though this might have been because Kise acted like evenlookingat the snacks would make him fat and unattractive, as though this was ever likely to happen.

Kise spread himself over the papers- conveniently concealing his notes which Murasakibara already saw were covered with little basketballs and the long swirling loops of Kise practising how to sign his name in English- and said, “I think it’s time for a break, Murasakibarachi. I want to play basketball.”

“Mido-chin isn’t going to let Mine-chin out untilhe’sdone,” said Murasakibara, who did not bother to tell Kise that this was likely to take more time than Murasakibara himself was ever going to devote to anything whatsoever.

Kise turned tip-tilted eyes on Murasakibara, blinking them hopefully, and reminding Murasakibara more irresistibly of caramel than ever, the good soft rich kind that spilled over your fingers when you bit into chocolate, flavoured delicately with sea-salt, just on this side of being overwhelmingly sweet and sticky, good enough to lick off.

 _Demanding_ to be licked off.

“ _We_ could play,” said Kise, sweetly.

Murasakibara blinked at Kise once. Twice. “After you’ve done your homework,” he said, sounding uncomfortably like his own older siblings, or Midorima.

“Why are youso meanto me,” said Kise.

Murasakibara opened an entirely new giant-sized KitKat, and crunched.


	11. Rarepairs- Akashi/Riko

**Title** : Simulation Complete  
 **Pairing** : Akashi/Riko  
 **Challenge** : No. 24 Rarepairs 

  

When Riko found him, Akashi had tucked himself into the space between benches and availed himself of a bright red PSP, and was absorbed in it with an air of total fascination, pressing buttons and biting his lip.

“Akashi-kun, what on earth are you doing?” said Riko, standing over him, and tapping her foot slowly.

Akashi smiled up at her winsomely, which after only two days of training camp Riko nevertheless recognised as his standard facial expression whenever faced with a girl who was not Momoi and was therefore defiantly immune to, and said, “Please excuse me- is this yours, Aida-san?”

“It is,” admitted Riko. The new title had only come out three days ago, and between late-night planning sessions and the total cessation of her free time due to frequent and transparent ‘consultations’ requested by hopeful, delusional players, she had had no time to get Tamura-kun past his second event flag and into the third rank of skills. She had resorted to playing while the boys in her training group ran her endless laps, because if Riko had any restraint whatsoever when it came to training her boys, she would have stuck to her initial no when Kiyoshi had asked her to coach the basketball team.

“It’s very interesting,” said Akashi.

“I certainly think so,” said Riko.

“May I borrow this?” said Akashi, without batting an eye. “It’s really quite fascinating.”

Selfishness and duty warred within her. On one hand, it was _hers_ , even if she had no time to play it and she had coaching to do. On the other, she did owe Akashi-kun for various small deeds, not the least of which was packing a post-surgical Kiyoshi off the premises when he’d showed up after escaping the hospital and tried to pretend he could manager for them even though he could barely walk.

“Fine,” said Riko. “You can borrow it. But I want it back before the end of camp, and if you erase my save file you’re a dead man.”

“Aida-san,” said Akashi gravely, standing up, and looking down at her. “Why would I ever do that?”

.0.

“Do you think,” said Akashi, sitting next to her at break without a single pause or regard for anyone already sitting at her table, like Hyuuga, Momoi or any of the other conversations Riko was not paying attention to while she worked out a training regime that would take Midorima’s shooting practice into account without braining any of her other players, “that the B High School power forward is worth a trade with Yukimitsu?”

“What?” said Riko. “That’s ab-” she checked herself. “Yukimitsu-kun is coming along nicely,” she managed to say. “To trade him at this point would be to waste the effort put into his jumping.”

“But B High has a history of training very aggressive forwards,” said Akashi. “If you trade him for two seasons- may I have the clipboard? Thank you- and then arrange matches here and here, then throw them let’s say Takeshima again in return for him, he loses the timidity which lost C Academy the semi-finals.”

“The hidden personality stats?” said Riko, watching Akashi’s neat hand transcribe equations. “That’s very- but Akashi-kun, did you consider Jun-kun, who benefits immensely from Takeshima-kun’s presence on the bench?”

“I was unsure of that,” Akashi confessed. Their heads bent over the paper, he added, “and I would advise you refrain from paying attention to any of Shintarou’s nonsense. There is no need to adjust your training plans to deal with his whims.”

“I know,” said Riko. “But really, when you think about trying to make the best possible use of your players- it’s such a delight to have such promising material to work with, you know. I want to develop all of them to their full potentials.”

“Oh,” said Akashi, looking at the small smile on her lips. “Oh, yes.”

  

(Down the other end of the table, while Hyuuga tried desperately to convince himself they were all insane, Momoi had written a statistical analysis of the predicted progression of Akashi-kun and Riko-san’s relationship, with Kise throwing in that he expected Akashichi to have her phone number by the end of the night and Midorima discreetly penciling in an engagement once Akashi had graduated summa cum laude from an Ivy League university.

“No seriously you are all insane,” said Aomine, who had come over to steal Satsuki’s dessert once he had finished his own, Tetsu’s and Ryou’s.

“Have you ever in almost four years of knowing him,” said Midorima, with awful patience and in a penetrating whisper, “ _ever_ heard Akashi say he was _unsure_?”)


	12. Basketball - Akashi + Midorima

**Title** : At First Sight  
 **Pairing** : Akashi/Midorima  
 **Challenge** : No. 25 Basketball

When the order came for the first-string to partner off for drills, Akashi acted with alacrity to secure for himself the most intelligent-looking among the first-years. His partner introduced himself as Midorima Shintarou, and aside from a slight verbal tic, proved himself an able and fairly intelligent conversationalist.

“Yes,” said Midorima, upon inquiry. “I recognized you, you gave the speech for the incoming students.” Pass.

Akashi nodded. Pass. He could not spare the breath for speech just then, unlike Midorima, who appeared to have the lungs of a horse and biceps the size of grapefruits. There was a penalty of  fifty laps every time the ball touched the ground. Akashi did not consider that throwing up on the side of the gym would be an illustrious start to his middle school career.

They broke for sprinting drills but Midorima stayed close to Akashi, failing to witter on about nothing in particular. Akashi did appreciate his silence; it was companionable. Of course, the other boy could just have been also beginning to suffer under the physical exertion of keeping up with the first day of first-string practice. 

In the haze of Akashi’s ardent desire to stagger to the side of the side of the gym and lie down with his head under a nice cool towel- though he felt he hid this well- he noticed Midorima was frowning slightly, having completed a sentence which Akashi had not been paying attention to.

“Pardon?” he said.

“I had expected to be the top scorer among the incoming class,” Midorima clarified.

Akashi blinked. “I see,” he said, politely. Occasionally, of course, such people did present themselves to him. They were hyper-competitive, insecure, tiresome and sometimes outright delusional.Their inflated opinions of themselves were only matched by their subsequent tantrums when their efforts failed to topple Akashi from whatever spot they were eyeing. Akashi was sorry that Midorima had turned out to be so unpleasant: this left him with only the freakishly tall boy who kept getting scolded for snacking or the dark-skinned one who appeared to be joined at the hip with his grade-school girlfriend. These prospects were not encouraging. “Of course, there will be no opportunity to reconsider the academic rankings until after the next set of tests,” Akashi said, resigning himself. 

“Of course,” said MIdorima, handing him an ice-cold waterbottle from the boxes carried out by the mangers, “but there is the matter of making the regulars.”

“We’ve both just entered the first string,” pointed out Akashi.

“The first-string,” said Midorima, “is not the starting squad.” He adjusted his glasses, which were just a smidgen too large for his face, and gave him a look of large-eyed earnestness. “What’s your sign?”

“My what?” responded Akashi, intelligently.

“Your star sign,” said Midorima, patiently.

“My birthday is December the Twentieth,” said Akashi.

“Ah,” said MIdorima, gathering his towel. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, then walked off muttering to himself about luck.

Akashi sighed and picked up his own towel. When pressed by the housekeeper about today’s events, he would keep Midorima to himself, he decided. While Midorima had not yet made himself a nuisance, it would be tiring to have to once again be scolded for describing to the staff the total mental and physical annihilation of a schoolmate who had overstepped his bounds.


	13. Summer - Midorima/Kuroko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thou art more lovely, and more temperate.

**Title:** More Lovely and Temperate

 **Pairing:** Kuroko/Midorima

 **Challenge: No 29:** Summer

Outside, their combined teams disported themselves like pigs- literal pigs, snuffling deep into the bowels of icy-cool watermelon halves broken open- but Midorima took himself into the inn to check on Kuroko. One hand held today’s lucky item, a bottle of nail polish, and the other, naturally, a generous ruby-red slice studded with onyx beads, out of which Midorima took small, decorous bites out of as he slid open the door and knelt by Kuroko’s prone, silent form.

"Are you feeling better?" he said, moving the cool towel. “It’s just like you to forget yourself and get heatstroke."

Kuroko shot him a look that in someone more upright and less Kuroko would have been a glare. The colour was back in his face, however, and his eyes were alert. Too-alert: his gaze moved to the watermelon slice in Midorima’s hand in silent question.

Midorima took another bite. Kuroko watched him chew and swallow, since Midorima refused to speak with his mouth full. “We’re having watermelons," Midorima said, unnecessarily. “Kimura-san’s father delivered them and invited Seirin to share."

Kuroko’s gaze clouded over, and for a moment Midorima tasted watermelon and was thirteen again, and the taste was thinner, sharper; Kise and Aomine had been having a competition to see who could smash open a watermelon with their heads alone, and the rest of them who were not idiots picked up the jagged shards to salvage whatever they could even as the sand was soaked with vegetal carnage. They had sat on the sand trying to look innocent as the sun soaked into their limbs, and eaten watermelon until it slid down their elbows.

"That was very kind of him," said Kuroko, politely. “How are they?"

"…good," said Midorima, and offered Kuroko his own slice for inspection: a deep ripe red all the way through. Kimura-san was inordinately proud of his son and his nationally-ranked basketball team, and doted on them both.

Kuroko sat up, strong, thin fingers holding onto Midorima’s wrist. As he bent his head down to take a bite he cast a look up at Midorima’s face, and his lips closed over a peak left in the fruit by the imprint of Midorima’s teeth, pink on red on skin-

"I’ll get you another," said Midorima, flushing.

Kuroko did not let go, and Midorima let him. “No," he said. Everyone else was outside and occupied, they were alone. “Midorima-kun, I think we can share."


	14. Kisses- Akashi/Midorima

**Title** : Forfeit

 **Challenge:**  33 Kisses

 **Characters:**  Akashi Seijuurou/Midorima Shintarou

"Playing for a forfeit?" said Midorima, turning a questioning look onto Akashi. "Why would that make it interesting?" He considered the board. He had certainly not lost  _yet_. 

"I meant more interesting for me," said Akashi baldly, and played yet another piece. 

Midorima narrowed his eyes at Akashi. “Name it,” he said. Reckless, to be certain, but no one enjoyed backing off around Akashi. It did not pay dividends. 

"I haven’t yet thought of one," said Akashi, which was obviously an out and out lie. Akashi did not make suggestions on a whim. Akashi did not, in fact, have whims. "I’m sure that by the time I win, I’ll have thought of something." He smiled into Midorima’s face. "Or I’ll hold you to it some other time."

For his part, Midorima could not think of any great sop to victory over Akashi than victory itself, but refrained from saying so. Akashi’s opinion of himself was inflated enough as it was. Since the only other thing he could think of to say was a series of phrases he had learned from Haizaki, Midorima stayed silent, merely communicating through body language- arms folded, and a set expression- that he considered any response beneath him. 

Akashi laughed in his face. 

"Surrender, I think," he said, a handful of minutes later. Midorima searched the board for options but had to admit there were none. 

"I surrender," he said. "What do you want?"

Akashi’s eyes lighted on his face. “I wonder,” he said, half to himself. “What  _do_ I want?”

"Nothing ridiculous," warned Midorima. 

"I am never ridiculous," said Akashi. 

"Nothing degrading," continued Midorima, ignoring this. 

"Would I do that to you?" said Akashi. 

"Repeatedly and with prejudice," said Midorima. He reached out and touched his hair-dryer; for luck. 

Akashi smiled, again. “Close your eyes,” he said. 

"For what?" said Midorima. 

"You agreed to the forfeit," Akashi reminded him. "Close your eyes."

Midorima closed them and waited for the inevitable humiliation; perhaps the smell of a marker being uncapped, or- here, Midorima’s invention failed him. He was not often party to childish pranks. 

He heard the sound of Akashi standing up, and endured the unhurried journey around the edge of the table until he felt Akashi’s presence standing beside him, heard the creak of the table as Akashi leaned against it, the whisper of fabric. 

Felt the careful, firm pressure of Akashi’s fingertips on his face.


	15. Character Battle- AoMomo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hatsumode with Dai-chan - somnia.

“I don’t see why you don’t dress up,” complained Satsuki, clinging to Aomine’s arm as she minced forward in her high slippers, wary of stone made slick by snow and tramping feet.

Aomine pulled his jacket closer and angled himself so that he could push through the crowd a little better. Place was packed. “It’s freezing,” he pointed out.

Satsuki pouted then, which drew his attention to pink gloss and pink cheeks. “Mou, Dai-chan,” she said. “Let’s get some sweet sake after we’re done, okay?”

“If we’re ever done,” Aomine mumbled. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have let her drag him out from his lovely warm blanket fort. What kind of parents thought it was good for their teenage kids to go out past midnight alone together, anyway? Weren’t they supposed to be worried about the moral standards today? If she kept pressing herself against he was going to _die_. Why couldn’t they be at the front of this stupid line?

Finally they were at the shrine, and Aomine ran through the remarkably short list of things he actually wanted, which included sleep, basketball, Mai-chan, and something to eat. He peeked to the side and Satsuki still had her hands together and was muttering under her breath, on and on.

When she was done she caught his eyes- he’d been staring- and smiled. She took his hand again to wind their way out of the line and into the vendor area, and didn’t say anything. She looked like all her wishes had come true.


	16. Jobs- Kaijou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There has to be an easier way to earn a living.

“You said they only needed _one_ ,” snarls Kasamatsu, clinging to the door with all his might.

They’ve gotten the swimwear onto him- by dint of stripping all his clothes off and then leaning against the door while their captain searched his options and found he _had none_ , but now they faced the nearly insurmountable task of getting him out into the studio. Unfortunately, director-san had gotten very excited by sempai’s six-pack, and now they couldn’t just leave him in there and get on with doing the shoot minus one background shirtless guy.

“I say a lot of things, Sempai,” says Kise. He has one arm, Moriyama-sempai has the other, and with meticulously honed teamwork they slowly, slowly prise him loose.

“Kasamatsu,” says Moriyama, soothingly, “Don’t you understand? This is a great opportunity! Girls love models!” He lowers his voice to hiss excitedly, “ _there are girls here_ _._ ”

“Lots of girls!” says Kise. “Even my sisters are here!”a _nd will skin me and gut me if I don’t get you out there in time_ _._

Kasamatsu only curses at them, and holds on.


	17. OTP Battle: AoHimu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For OTP Battle: Dance AU

**Title** : Bassu  
 **Characters** : Aomine Daiki, Himuro Tatsuya, Kuroko Tetsuya, Kagami Taiga  
 **Pairing** : Aomine/Himuro  
 **Challenge** : 59, OTP Battle  
 **Summary** : Dance AU, for lici.   
 **Submitted by** : half_sleeping   


The beat was throbbing through the floor by the time Murasakibara showed up, babysitter in tow. Something about the bare concrete soaked up the sound and sent it travelling up through their soles, into the soul, and Aomine couldn’t hear anyone talking and didn’t want to, anyway. He wanted to dance.  

 

Tetsu was manning the decks, as usual. Mayuzumi next to him looked pissy, but he was rolling his spine at the same time, just barely letting the twitch of his hips get away with him. Tetsu was holding the show tonight, all night.

Kagami was well away from the giant subwoofers wolfing down his reward for hauling them from wherever Tetsu kept them, but he was bouncing his foot, too, eager to get away. Aomine was surprised. He hadn’t thought anything could have kept Kagami’s attention better than his cheeseburgers.

Except, of course, for the person Aomine always mentally called Smirky-faced Bastard #2.

Himuro Tatsuya laughed and wiped ketchup from Kagami’s face with his tongue. Kagami made a face at Himuro, screwed up in order to hide his boyish joy, face flushing so hard he looked like a beacon even in the dim lighting. Himuro laughed and pinched his cheek.

Tetsu and Murasakibara and Mayuzumi all rolled their eyes simultaneously. Himuro left his hand in Kagami’s hair as he leaned over to look at Tetsu’s playlist for the night. He reached out, seemingly unaware of the fact that almost every single dent in Tetsu’s laptop chassis were the heads of people who had messed with his music- Aomine accounted for five all by himself. It was the real reason that damn thing was so heavy and solid. Tetsu caught Himuro’s hand by the wrist, and looked up at Aomine.

Maybe because Kagami was still staring adoringly at Himuro, Tetsu failed to clock Smirky-faced Bastard #2 one, even when Himuro’s gaze narrowed and his head went back. Himuro followed Tetsu’s gaze to where Aomine was sitting, his legs dangling from the balcony of the mezzanine.

Tetsu looked back at Himuro and released his hand to take hold of the ever-present vanilla milkshake. Aomine wondered what it was spiked with today. Tetsu’s other hand hit familiar keyboard shortcuts, and the beat spiked and went wild, roaring through Aomine’s veins.

Himuro heard it too. He kept staring up at Aomine even as other clumps of people, obedient to BASSU’s unspoken rules, cleared the floor. Kagami looked between them and looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t dare.

Aomine untangled himself from the railings, and dropped to the dance floor.


	18. OTP Battle - KagaKuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Dance!AU

**Title** : Bassu (ii)   
**Characters** : Aomine Daiki, Kuroko Tetsuya, Kagami Taiga, Kise Ryouta   
**Pairing** : Kagami Taiga/Kuroko Tetsuya   
**Challenge** : 59, OTP Battle   
**Summary** : More Dance AU.   
 **Submitted by** : half_sleeping 

Kagami-kun was lying over the backs of three up-turned chairs staring at the ceiling, and while this was not an uncommon Bassu sight even for Kagami-kun, the fact that Aomine and Kise were standing over him looking guilty AND concerned was enough for Kuroko to pry off his headphones and walk over.

 

Kagami-kun’s gaze did not move off the ceiling. Kise and Aomine looked at Kuroko.

Kuroko fixed his gaze on them.

Between them, Kagami-kun blinked once, very slowly. “Kuroko?” he said. His voice was a raspy slur, and contrasted sharply with the bright look in his eyes as he fastened them on Kuroko. He stretched out a hand to Kuroko. “Kuroko,” he said again, pleadingly. He left it hanging in the air between them.

Kuroko looked at Aomine and Kise.

They cracked first.

“It’s all Aominechi’s fault,” said Kise.

“It’s your fault,” said Aomine.

“Aomine-kun,” said Kuroko. “Kise-kun.”

They flinched.

“Getting wasted never hurt nobody,” said Aomine defensively, accurate if ungrammatical. He pointed to a plastic cup overturned next to Kagami. “How the hell was I supposed to know he’d pound it like that?”

“Have you never seen Kagamichi eat,” said Kise.

“Not if he didn’t know the drink was spiked,” said Kuroko, more practically. “What did he drink?”

Aomine shifted. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “It was just sitting there. I think Haizaki was close to it last.”

“And you… still let him drink it,” said Kuroko.

“I was on the second floor,” said Aomine, defensively. “What the hell did you expect me to do, knock it out of his hands with a shot glass? Why the hell’s he drinking random-ass drinks left on the table, anyway?”

Kise picked up the glass, and sniffed like he had seen people do on TV. “This would have been sweet enough that Kagamichi wouldn’t have tasted anything,” he said. “Could have been anything in there, really. Or Kagamichi’s just wasted. Hard to tell.”

Kuroko waved his hand in front of Kagami’s face. Kagami responded by seizing Kuroko’s hand and pressing it devoutly to his chest, which was, to say the least, distressing. “Kuroko?” he said, again.

“I’m here,” said Kuroko. Kagami felt very warm.

“Uh, guys,” said Kise. “What do we do with Kagamichi?”

“I’ll take him home,” said Kuroko, now petting Kagami’s forehead with his other hand.

“Ok where’s he live-” said Kise, taking out his phone to call a car.

“I’m taking him to my home,” said Kuroko.

“I’m having a morality moment, here-” started Aomine, looking between Kagami and Kuroko.

“Good,” said Kuroko. “You can help me carry him there.”


	19. Team Battle: Kamata West

There’s something different about them today. Their captain can’t stop looking, frowning, even though the twins are running their drills with angelic diligence, even though actually, literally no one has complained to him about them for almost thirty-six consecutive hours, which- wait, that’s the perfect reason to be suspicious. The twins aren’t capable of good behavior. The captain has a theory that if they don’t do something evil every day, or less than that, they’ll explode. It’s the only reason he can think of for why it’s such a _compulsion_ with them, when eighty other members of this club can go weeks- months- without getting into fights, getting into trouble with the teachers, and disrupting club activities as thoroughly and imaginatively as they know how.

The captain’s eyes narrow. It might be something he hasn’t heard about yet, but no one else is talking about it, and news travels fast here. They’re more identical than usual today, though they’re answering to individual names as usual and- that’s it.

He bellows for them to come over. They flinch for an instant- guilty, guilty- and then float guilelessly over.

“Why are you two pretending to be each other?” he demands without preamble. This isn’t the ‘no you mean him’ quick con they’ve been pulling on suspecting people for the month since they arrived as freshmen. They’ve been using each other lockers, each other’s phones, shoes, bags. One of them is on setup today, one’s been scheduled for a mini-game. They’ve gone through all those things without breaking character. This is some next-level shit going on right here.

They exchange quick looks.

“Practicing subterfuge,” says the right one.

“To confuse and misdirect the enemy,” says the left one.

“You’re in practice,” says the captain. They’ll leave ‘enemy’ for another day, hopefully after he’s graduated, and can safely shake his head at their antics when they make national news.

“Always vigilant,” says the left one.

“And how would this work in actual matches, when you’re wearing numbers on your body?” he inquires.

They look at him like he’s an idiot, before quickly modulating their expressions. “Switch shirts at half time,” the left one says.

“Or time-out,” the right one says.

The captain’s eyes cross. “I ought,” he says in slow deliberation, “to beat your asses bloody.”

“You could,” they say in unison. Then blink in rapid innocence at him. The captain sighs. For such little assholes, every one of the many fights they’ve been in has completely failed to change their position on casual violence. They throw good punches and always back each other up, take their lumps without crying or whining. Beating them up is just going to land him onto some kind of special hell for bad sempai.

“If you spend as much time improving your play as you did thinking up these dumb little tricks you’d actually make regulars faster,” says the captain, sourly. “I want fifty cross drills out of both of you before you get out of practice today, and every day this week.”

“Sure, sure,” they say, and by the bored droop of their eyes, he can see they don’t believe him.


End file.
